The End
by Captain Oblivious
Summary: A one shot of the end of Harry Potter, written before HBP and DH were released. R&R, if you like.


**Title:** _The End_

**Author:** Captain Oblivious

**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer:** I'm borrowing a few characters and a bit of dialogue from J.K. Rowling. I'm sure she won't mind. wink

**A/N:** I've been nearly convinced of this theory for a while, but Rowling's comments about foreshadowing in the _Prisoner of Azkaban_ movie cinched it for me. This is what I believe will be the ending of the Harry Potter series.

**Summary:** "… for in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own. Let him swim in the deepest sea, or climb on the highest cloud." A one-shot of the ending of Harry Potter.

* * *

_The End_

It didn't feel like it should have. The end of a reign of terror should have brought an overwhelming sense of joy, especially when you were the one who brought it about. But that wasn't the way he felt. Instead of the emotion that made the rest of the world giddy with happiness, he felt empty.

What was there to do now? For seven years, his goal was to make it out of school alive. He'd worked hard to become an Auror so that he could _fight_. Fight _what_? There wasn't anything left to fight! When had he stopped thinking about the future? When had he stopped caring?

There had been so many losses to bring around the end of this storm. He still had Ron and Hermione; oh yes, of course he still had them. But there were holes everywhere he looked, holes that should have been filled with people that he'd known, that he'd grown up with. So many were gone: Dumbledore and Lupin, to name some of the closer ones. The deaths near the end had been staggering.

His parents were still gone, but it didn't seem to matter so much anymore. They'd always been gone, hadn't they? When had he realized that? When had he realized that he didn't _need_ them anymore?

What was left of the students and faculty of Hogwarts that year had gathered in the Great Hall for the end of the year feast. Seats throughout the hall had been left empty in respect for those gone. It wasn't as solemn as it would have been a few days ago. Sparks of life were beginning to come back to the children, and they were beginning to get on with their lives. They wouldn't forget; oh no, they would never _forget_, but these things are never kept at the front of the mind forever, especially when it doesn't hit very close to home in the first place.

It had taken twenty-seven years, but it was finally over for good. The news had spread through the world like gossip through the school. Harry Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord, and there had been a monumental sigh of relief. For everyone except the victor. His purpose to himself and to the world was inexistent.

They bowed their heads in silence, a reverent time to remember the dead. It made his head feel a bit muttled. It didn't last for long. McGonagall seemed to know that the First Years would get antsy soon.

"It feels funny for it to be all over, doesn't it?" asked Hermione, pinching her lips together and looking contemplative.

He must have a headache, because her voice fades in and out and she looks a bit fuzzy.

"Up!"

Ginny's hand gives his a squeeze under the table, sending warm shocks up his arm to the rest of his body. Something flutters in his stomach and he feels momentarily completely happy and carefree and grateful. Who would've thought _Ginny_, of all people….

Ron shoves a newspaper across the table. "Harry, mate, there's an advert in the paper about a flat in London."

"Get up!"

"D'you think London'll be a good place? I mean, it's sort of central, isn't it?" Ron was fuzzy too, and everything was sort of fading away. Why was it doing that? Harry stretched out in a panic and tried to grasp onto the image.

"Now!"

"Yes," Hermione chimes in. "And it's a perfect distance from the Burrow. You'll be able to pop in and see Ginny when you like, and Mr. Weasley can come and examine our plugs (there are some really fascinating ones in this flat, Harry, it's very old, you see)…"

"**_Up_**!" In a wink, Hogwarts was gone.

Harry Potter's eyes snapped open at the sound of his Aunt Petunia banging on the door of his cupboard. He had been dreaming about something lovely and magical. But dreams always ended, didn't they?

"Are you up yet?" a screeching sort of voice demanded irritably.

"Nearly," said Harry shortly.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…"

And so began another day in the life of Harry Potter. For he had not _really_ gone to a place called Hogwarts, you see. That had only been a dream.

As Harry pulled on an oversized t-shirt, he searched his mind for the dream he'd been having. He couldn't quite remember what it had been about. He had been grown up, and it had been very real, and there were some people who seemed to be his best friends…

But it slipped away like all dreams do, and Harry shuffled into the kitchen of number four, Privet Drive, to look after the bacon. He didn't much want to look at Dudley's birthday presents. Every year, Dudley got more and more presents, and this year, his eleventh birthday, was no exception. The living room was undoubtedly piled high with colorful packages. Harry was turning eleven soon, but it didn't matter much to the Dursleys, as they hated him and seemed to resent that they'd let him stay when his parents had been killed in a car crash when he was a baby.

Uncle Vernon gave Harry an annoyed look. Everything about Harry seemed to annoy Uncle Vernon, really, but there was one thing in particular that always drew his ridicule. Harry reached up and pushed his bangs forward on his forehead…

… and tried to cover his scar.

_The Beginning_

"… for in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own. Let him swim in the deepest sea, or climb on the highest cloud." – Professor Albus Dumbledore, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ (the movie)


End file.
